


Ultracrepidarian

by sirius123



Series: Final Fantasy XIV Writing Challenge 2020 [11]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Bastard Sons, Ishgard!, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:33:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26431207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirius123/pseuds/sirius123
Summary: Charon really hates being talked down to. He'd take talking to a senile old man any day.Prompt #11 for the FF14 Writing challenge!
Series: Final Fantasy XIV Writing Challenge 2020 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907170
Kudos: 1





	Ultracrepidarian

Charon could only smile awkwardly behind his glass of wine as the old noble talk his ear off. He had been dragged to this even by his parents, who were desperate to find him a wife. He was nearly fifty summers old, who wanted an old man like him, anyway? But he agreed with a slightly bitter smile, allowed himself to be dressed up, and here he was. With an old man, surrounded but a bunch of nobles he had a hard time connecting with.

“What did you do again, boy?” the man asked, and Charon smiled thinly.

“I’m a Blacksmith, sir,” he answered for the fourth time that night. The old man seemed to be having memory problems. 

“A Blacksmith? Why, I remember, in my days...” He started on his rant again, naming off random smithy facts that were in no way true. Honestly, this old man was just trying to outdo him. Everyone around them started at the old noble and the Bastard son who really had no business being there.

He agreed. He was the only bastard of Nathaniel Beaumont, he had no business being at these fancy shindigs. But his father and stepmother insisted. So here he was, bored out of his wits, wilting under the judging gazes of the nobles around him.

“Oh, but I doubt a bastard knows the intricate ins and outs of fine blacksmithy.” The old man had stopped talking, staring blankly into space, so his son interjected before his father could start talking again. Charon merely sipped his wine, raising an eyebrow at him. “A nobleman would have a much better master than what any old commoner could find.”

“Hm, I suppose,” Charon said jovially, his eye twitching in annoyance. He did a good job hiding it, and the man continued.

“Hm, yes, I was taught by the greatest blacksmith in Ishgard. I suppose you wouldn’t know his name. He is of House Beaumont, you see.” Oh. So this man knew he was a bastard, just not of which house? Oh. This should be fun. The other mand pulled out his sword to show to Charon. Ah, yes, this was definitely one of his. He could see his seal right at the base of the blade. “See? Have you not seen a finer blade? Truly this man is a noble of considerable talent.”

“Ah, yes. Did you ever see this man?” Charon asked, half-heartedly looking over the blade.

“Of course! He is of fine, fine stock, you see.” Charon had no idea who this man was or if he had ever seen him. He never hired noblemen, only men, and women from lesser means, teaching them the craft that they could use to support their families. He would have never hired this man. So he smiled at him, holding out his hand. The noble was quick to put the blade in his hand and he tested its balance and the sharpness of the blade. He let out a satisfied hum before handing it to the man.

“Yes, this is definitely one of mine,” he said, and the other noble looked shocked.

“Pardon?!”

“This blade. It’s mine. It was made at my forge,” Charon continued. “A blade like that would have taken me about a week to make, I suppose. It’s one of my cheaper ones, you see, still high quality, of course-”

“B-but this was created by...” The man trailed off as Charon smiled.

“Yes, by a man of House Beaumont. I am Charon Greystone, and my father is Nathaniel Beaumont. I’m the Blacksmith that made that fine sword.” He waved a hand over the blade and the man quickly sheathed it back into its holder, his face pink in embarrassment. “IF you don’t believe me, you could always ask my esteemed father. I’m sure he’d love to answer any other questions you might have.”

“B-but I- I mean,” the man stuttered, and the old man cut in once more.

“Have you tried the wine? Delicious, isn’t it, the Lord Commander spared no expense...” With the interruption, it gave the man’s son time to scamper off somewhere and lick his wounds. Charon smiled behind his glass once more.

This man was considerably less annoying than his son. He was much happier to be talking to this halfway senile fool than his annoying son.


End file.
